


hoist the sails and brave the crashing waves

by S_Hylor



Series: Bingo Round 1 2018 [13]
Category: Marvel Ultimates
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Captivity, M/M, Mutant Steve, Pre-Relationship, Waterworld - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-31
Updated: 2018-07-31
Packaged: 2019-06-19 16:35:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15513981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/S_Hylor/pseuds/S_Hylor
Summary: In a world that is only salt water, everyone wants to find the last safe haven.Dryland.Except Steve.Steve just wants his boat back and for everyone to leave him alone.Or the Waterworld AU that no one asked for.





	hoist the sails and brave the crashing waves

**Author's Note:**

> Written for my Stony Bingo square "captivity".
> 
> Thank you to quandong_crumble for the beta work. 
> 
> This was inspired by the movie Waterworld (1995). I loved that movie as a kid, and I still love it.
> 
> Naturally it just begged for grumpy Ults Steve to be thrown at it. 
> 
> Title is from the song Morning Tide by Poets of the Fall.

The cage rocks slightly, swaying in the breeze and the second hand movement of the floating city. The motion is all wrong though, it doesn't feel right beneath him, doesn't feel right in his bones. His skin feels too dry, he feel trapped, feels sick from how the movement feels wrong.

He could see them earlier, picking over his boat like a carcass, until there is nothing left of her but bones. All his supplies gone, his little trees—carefully kept alive for weeks—were the first to go. Civilisation is only a ruse, everyone becomes a scavenger in the end. And to think they call him a savage.

The walkway nearby creaks, footsteps approaching, the pad of bare feet against wood and metal. He doesn't look though, still focused on his boat, the guards posted to keep people from picking over it after dark. Not that there is much left of it.

“Oh, wow, you really do have gills.” There's a brush of fingers against the shell of his ear to accompany the voice.

He jerks his head away, bringing his hand up and around, smacking against the bars of the cage, but the hand has already withdrawn. Baring his teeth he snarls at the man sitting on the walkway level with the cage; he looks familiar, but he's seen so many new faces today that he doesn't remember where he saw him. Dark hair, tanned skin, blue eyes and carefully sculpted facial hair like he has nothing better to do with his time. There's also the smell of alcohol about the man that makes him want to draw away, but there's only so far he can go while trapped in the cage.

The man smiles at him, seemingly unperturbed. “Are they functional? They look fully formed.”

He just glares in response, wanting to ignore him, but not trusting the man enough to take his eyes off him.

“Not a conversationalist? That's okay, darling, I talk plenty enough. Ask anyone.” The man reaches out again, resting his hand against the cage, but doesn't move to reach beyond the bars again. “You got a name, darling? I'm Tony.”

Watching Tony warily, he doesn't bother answering. He's not sure how to answer, he hasn't had a name for a long time, isn't sure he ever had one. There's no use for one when he is by himself, which is how he prefers to be.

Tony pulls his hand back, shoulders slumping slightly, before he fishes around inside his jacket and extracts a small bottle. The movements expose the skin on his chest, some of it marked black with an undecipherable design. Uncapping it, he takes a drink before holding it out towards the cage. “You look like you could use a drink, if I ever saw someone who did.”

Hesitating, he isn't sure. Tony smells like alcohol, and he's already dehydrated enough that he shouldn't drink it, but if he's only going to be executed in the morning, did it really matter?

Waggling the bottle from side to side, Tony grins at him, easy and affectionate, when everyone else has looked at him with disgust and disdain. “It's the best stuff, I promise. Made it myself.”

Carefully, watching for signs of a trick, he reaches out, slipping his hand between the bars to take the bottle. Drawing it closer he gives it a curious sniff, but it doesn't smell like alcohol. Taking a careful sip, he watches Tony the whole time, looking for the sign of a trick, but there's nothing on his face except open curiosity and anticipation. The liquid touches his tongue, tasting slightly metallic, as though it had been boiled and distilled in a copper kettle, but underneath that it's just water. He takes another gulp, leaning far back in the cage, away from Tony in case he tries to snatch the bottle back, but Tony just grins wider.

“Good, huh? I've been experimenting a bit, with different processes, but that used to be too salty to drink. I think it worked out pretty well. It's only the first of the new batch.” Tony rests his hand on the cage again, fingers curling around the bars. “I bet the water on Dryland tastes even better though.”

Taking another sip, telling himself he shouldn't drink too fast, it takes a while to notice that Tony is still staring at him expectantly, like he's waiting for a reply.

“You've been there, right? Dryland? I saw the things they brought up off of your boat, there's things there that I've never seen before. Dirt! You must have been there. Is it beautiful?” Tony leans forward far enough that his weight his pushing the cage out and he looks close to overbalancing and falling off the walkway. “Can you tell me how to get there?”

Tightening his grip on the bottle, he leans forward to counter the tilt of the cage, using his weight to push it back level so Tony is more upright. “Can you get me out of here?”

Tony's face falls as he slumps back. “I don't have the keys.”

Somewhere below them a door opens, light spilling out and reflecting across the water. The marshal who had locked him in the cage stands there, looking up at them. “Tony, you'd better come down from there.”

“I'm just talking, Jim.” Tony calls back down, then lowers his voice and leans back closer to the cage. “If I get you out of here, will you take me to Dryland?”

He doesn't tell Tony that Dryland is just a myth, he doesn't agree to take him there either; not that he owes anything to these people. “Get me out of here.”

Tony reaches back through the bars and tugs the empty bottle out of his hand. “I'll see what I can do, darling. I'll be back.”

“Tony. Move along.” The marshal calls out again.

Scrambling to his feet, Tony lingers a moment, giving him a smile that's softer than any of his others so far. “I'll be back, okay? Then you and I are going to Dryland.”

He watches Tony disappear back off along the walkway, hears the thumps of his footsteps long after he disappears from sight.


End file.
